


mother, mother

by anavkour



Series: "the gay is genetic" universe [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: "or gay and really picky", Bisexual Kuroo Tetsurou, Demisexual Kozume Kenma, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Kuroo Tetsurou is Bad at Feelings, Kuroo Tetsurou is a Mess, Lots of Crying, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, brief references to Portal, brief references to Portal 2, it's not gay if it's in kyoto, kenma's dad is Good, kenma's mom was not, kuroo's ongoing sexuality crisis, mentioned past yakuroo, past kuroshou, road trip but it's actually a train, the gay is genetic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27274147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anavkour/pseuds/anavkour
Summary: “What do you remember about your mother?”Kenma jumps where he’s propped against Kuroo’s chest, fingers stalling on the buttons of his PSP. He glances up, golden eyes flashing, just for a second, before he tilts his head back down to focus on his game. It takes him another moment to murmur, “Not much.”“Me neither, for mine,” Kuroo admits. He gets a surprised hum out of Kenma at that. “I know she hasn’t been gone as long, but….” He tips his head back into Kenma’s pillow. “It’s foggy.”Kenma hums again at that.“Am I a bad kid for not remembering?”“No,” Kenma pauses the game and pushes himself up more so his neck is at a less severe angle, tilts his head so his cheek rests on Kuroo’s sternum. “Trauma does that sometimes.”~in which Kuroo goes to look for his mom, and finds more than he expected.~UPDATE 1.10.21:  on hiatus
Relationships: BokuAka, Bokuto Koutarou & Kuroo Tetsurou, Kozume Kenma & Kuroo Tetsurou, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: "the gay is genetic" universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991422
Comments: 13
Kudos: 38





	mother, mother

**Author's Note:**

> so this is the behemoth fic! i've been working on it since august [?] ever since that fateful day i clicked the random dialogue generator and got what is now the first line of this fic. 
> 
> many thanks to cactus for letting me go on incessantly about this fic for the past two months—hopefully i will be done yelling about it by 2021

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for mentions of abuse near the end - it's nothing graphic, but if you want to skip it, stop reading at "Kuroo looks away. Partially because the eye contact is insane, but also because Kenma’s right." and pick back up at "[He feels like a coward, but he can’t stop himself.]" 
> 
> //chapter title edited 11.22.20

“What do you remember about your mother?”

Kenma jumps where he’s propped against Kuroo’s chest, fingers stalling on the buttons of his PSP. He glances up, golden eyes flashing, just for a second, before he tilts his head back down to focus on his game. It takes him another moment to murmur, “Not much.”

“Me neither, for mine,” Kuroo admits. He gets a surprised hum out of Kenma at that. “I know she hasn’t been gone as long, but….” He tips his head back into Kenma’s pillow. “It’s foggy.”

Kenma hums again at that.

“Am I a bad kid for not remembering?”

“No,” Kenma pauses the game and pushes himself up more so his neck is at a less severe angle, tilts his head so his cheek rests on Kuroo’s sternum. “Trauma does that sometimes.”

Kenma’s looking at him, but Kuroo stares at the wall, at where Kenma’s got his feet propped above the chair rail. He’s wearing the thigh-high cat socks Kuroo had gotten him as a joke a few weeks back, the ones with the ears in the front. He hadn’t expected Kenma to like them so much. Or for him to look so good in them. _He has very nice thighs_ , Kuroo thinks, then: _huh._

“Still,” He pulls his eyes away from Kenma’s legs to look at his face, “it’s not like she died or anything.” 

The unspoken _Not like yours_ sits heavy in the hollow of his throat. 

Kenma slides his heels down the wall, climbs over him to set his PSP on the nightstand. Kuroo knows the conversation is turning serious if Kenma’s putting down his game. He nudges Kuroo’s arm out of the way and curls up in the curve of Kuroo’s torso, back pressed against his chest. Kuroo rests his chin on Kenma’s head. 

“There was trauma that made her leave, though, right?” Kenma’s voice is soft, hesitant. Kuroo knows this has to be hard for him, not only because a missing parent is a shared pain, but because Kenma struggles to articulate sometimes. They’ve both learned to be patient about it. Kuroo has learned infinite ways to be patient because of Kenma. “Trauma is still trauma, no matter what it is.”

“I know.”

“And you can’t always control how it affects you, especially if you don’t recognize it as trauma at first. It’s a process.” 

“It’s a sucky process.”

“Yeah,” Kenma murmurs. “It is.”

There’s an easy silence, one learned and practiced over years of coexistence. Kuroo learned to appreciate the quiet early on; when his own house was too loud, Kenma’s was a refuge, no sounds but video game sound effects and Kenma’s soft voice. He’s found that the more time he spends with Kenma, the more he likes the quiet moments.

Still, even if the silence is easy, Kuroo feels a tightness in his chest. There’s a reason he’s thinking about his mom today.

“Can I stay over? It’s gonna be….rough, tonight, I think.”

“Of course,” Kenma rolls over, presses his face into Kuroo’s chest. “Today’s….the day, right? Five years exactly?”

“Yeah,” Kuroo drapes an arm back over him. “Dad’s probably….I don’t want to get in the way if he gets upset. Might need to run home and grab stuff, but….can’t stay there for long.”

“Stay as long as you need,” Kenma looks up at him through dark eyelashes. “You’re safe here.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” Kenma repeats.

Kuroo doesn’t end up going home. He doesn’t need to. He’s got a toothbrush in Kenma’s bathroom anyway. 

**~~~**

Contrary to what the entirety of the team may think, Kuroo and Kenma aren’t dating.

Sure, they hang out a lot [read:all the time]. They share a water bottle [someone, usually Lev, calls “indirect kiss!” every time they do], share clothes [Kenma wears Kuroo’s, Kuroo’s too big to fit into Kenma’s but he tries anyway], and share lunches [a habit from elementary school when Kenma refused to eat the vegetables in his bento box]. They fall asleep on the bus half-tangled together, sit close when the team’s sprawled on the floor after a match, lay together in Kenma’s room like they’re doing now. And sure, Kuroo massages Kenma’s shoulders and hands on his bad days, rests his head on top of Kenma’s and lets the setter try his best to melt into Kuroo’s chest when the world gets too loud. But that’s what friends do, right? He knows girls do, at least, he’s seen them sit close together and kiss each other’s cheeks before. Kuroo silently curses gender stereotypes every time Lev yells “THAT’S GAY” at Kuroo and Kenma doing something remotely affectionate across the gym. [Lev has learned to stay out of arm’s reach when he says and does these things. Someday, Kuroo’s going to spike a volleyball at the back of his head.] 

But he can’t deny that whatever they have isn’t just plain _friendship._ He doesn’t know when the shift started, when they stopped _ending up_ curled together on Kenma’s bed and started doing it on purpose. They’ve had this intimacy for a while now, he realizes, but they’ve never put a name to it. They haven’t needed to—they’re Kuroo and Kenma; they exist as a pair.

Recently, however, Kuroo’s starting to come to some conclusions he hadn’t previously:

  1. Kenma’s hair is really soft. Really really soft, especially after he washes it. He knows this, again, because of years of experience. The bleach had dried it out somewhat, made it crunchy, but after some conditioning treatments, it’s cornsilk soft, and Kuroo could spend hours running his fingers through it. And he does, sometimes, when he’s feeling brave. 
  2. He’s the perfect size to hug; he fits comfortably under Kuroo’s chin, and he’s small enough that Kuroo can wrap both arms securely around him. He’s also very catlike in that once he’s comfortable, he relaxes so much he melts.
  3. Kuroo maybe kinda might want to kiss him.



He’s not sure when the thought came into his head, or why. But it’s there, and it pops up a lot. Kenma’s lips change often. They’re berry red and raw when he chews on them, chapped and split in the winter. Kuroo buys him strawberry chapstick en masse. [The apple flavour had a bitter smell and an even more bitter taste; Kenma was very disappointed.] He’s never used it himself, prefers the bite of mint on his own lips, but he wonders what artificial strawberries taste like on Kenma’s.

He wonders if Kenma thinks about it, how it might feel to kiss his best friend. He wonders if Kenma’s thoughts ever go further than that. He wonders if these are normal thoughts for best friends to have. He doesn’t think this way about Bokuto; Bo gives nice hugs and he’s not hard to look at, but it’s not the same. They’re bros. It feels weird to think about it any other way. And his previous relationships had been different too—there was heat, but it was superficial, and it burned out quickly.

Kenma sighs in his sleep, presses ever so slightly closer into Kuroo. Kenma’s easy for him to read most of the time, another product of coexistence, but when he wonders how Kenma sees him, or their relationship now, he has no idea. But there are a couple things about Kenma that make him wonder:

  1. Kenma isn’t a touchy person, especially when he’s anxious or falling back into his head, but in those moments, he holds onto Kuroo tighter than usual. [Kuroo holds tightly back, and they cling to each other until the storm passes]
  2. He’s also been the one to initiate touch recently. Exhibit A:today. He’d flopped on Kenma’s bed fully intending to take a nap while the setter played his game at the foot of the bed. But Kenma had cozied up next to him, using Kuroo as a pillow.
  3. He’s definitely not straight, given how he’d gushed over the character art for some game’s male protagonist. Kuroo had said “so you’re gay for him?” and Kenma had mumbled “more than just him” before shutting down and refusing to speak on it further.



This is not the first time Kuroo has laid awake like this, but it is the first time Kuroo has thought about _why_ he lays awake like this. He’d read somewhere that you don’t have a real crush on someone until you lie awake at night thinking about them. 

_Well_ , he thinks, eloquently. _Fuck._

**~~~**

“I wonder where she is.”

They’re doing the same thing as yesterday, except Kenma’s socks are short and pastel yellow, and he’s on a new level of his game. Kuroo’s found if he’s not thinking about Kenma, he’s thinking about his mom. Also new. 

“Your mom?” Kenma asks, though he looks like he knows the answer. 

“Yeah.”

Kenma’s laser-focused on his game; the buttons click in rapid succession as Kenma tries again for a combo. He’s been on this level all week. Kuroo watches as his character [ _sprite_ , Kenma had called it. Kuroo asked why it was named after an American soda and got a withering glare in return] flickers as it gets takes damage. Kenma narrows his eyes. 

“Do you want to find her?”

“Kind of?”

“Why ‘kind of’?”

“What if she doesn’t want to see me?”

It rolls off his tongue like it’s not one of his worst fears, like it hasn’t been haunting him ever since he watched her bolt across the front lawn, tears in her eyes, his father yelling after her from the doorway, Kuroo wedged in a corner in the living room. He’d run to Kenma’s house later that night, when his father was too drunk to notice, and he’d felt a fleeting sensation of freedom, like he was following in his mother’s footsteps and finally getting out of that too-loud house once and for all. He’d climbed through Kenma’s window and collapsed on the floor underneath it, shaking, until Kenma came in the room and found him. Kenma coaxed him out from under the windowsill and wrapped blankets around him to get the shivering to stop. It took a while; Kuroo still remembers when Kenma ran out of blankets, he wrapped his arms around Kuroo and held tight until they fell asleep. 

“Why wouldn’t she?”

Kuroo shrugs. “What if she forgot about me? Or she just…doesn’t care anymore.” 

“She’s your mom, Kuro, she wouldn’t have forgotten about you,” Kenma drops his handheld to one side and gives him a cutting stare. “And I don’t think someone like her would stop caring about her kid.”

“What do you mean?”

Kenma doesn’t say anything for a long moment, looks back at the wall. “She took care of me like she took care of you,” He laces his fingers together, kneads his hands. “I could tell she really cared, about both of us. That’s not something you let go of easily. She’s not that kind of person.”

“Yeah,” Kuroo murmurs. “I guess.”

Kenma looks back over at him for a moment, then gets up. Kuroo watches as he crosses the room to grab a game controller from his desk, then tosses it to Kuroo, who barely catches it.

“Kenma?”

“You’re getting stuck in your head again,” Kenma says flatly, booting up the game console. 

“Does this mean Portal 2 Co-op?” When Kenma nods, Kuroo groans and sits up. “You know I suck at this.”

“Yeah, but it makes you use your brain for something other than worrying,” Kenma gets the second controller and sits next to him. 

“Do I have to be the blue guy again?”

“You _are_ the blue guy.” Kenma elbows him in the side. “And his name is Atlas.”

“Are you calling me short?”

“No, I’m calling you overly affectionate.”

“Ouch,” Kuroo presses a hand over his heart. “You wound my overly affectionate heart.” 

He watches Kenma’s mouth twitch, bites his tongue against a grin of his own, and turns on the controller.

**~~~**

“Kyoto.”

They’re in the clubroom, after practice. Kuroo says this under his breath, quiet enough only Kenma can hear. Kenma looks up at him with a wince—he’d been hit in the back of the neck by one of Lev’s wild serves earlier, and the nurse had been out of ice. Lev’s probably still doing punishment pushups in the gym. 

“That’s where she is?” Kenma murmurs. It’s been three days since their last conversation, but Kenma always knows what he’s talking about. Kuroo nods. “How’d you find out?”

“Dad still follows her on Facebook. She has her location as Kyoto, and she’s posted pictures of herself in the city.”

“Oh.”

Kuroo closes his locker. “There was someone else in some of them.”

“Oh?”

“She has a girlfriend.”

“ _Oh_?” Kenma’s eyes widen. Kuroo lets out a shaky chuckle and pulls on his jacket. 

“Yeah.” He wants to add something like _looks like the gay is genetic_ , but that would involve maybe coming out to the first years, who are trying very hard not to act like they’re listening. Despite what they might be thinking, he's not sure he wants to do that yet. Kenma, perceptive as always, seems to get it anyway, huffing out a small laugh. 

“That’s–“

“What are you two gossiping about?” Tora interrupts, clapping one hand on Kuroo’s shoulder and the other on Kenma’s. Kuroo jolts like he’s been electrocuted. Kenma makes an _eep_ noise and ducks away. “Who has a girlfriend?”

“Not you,” Kenma quips. Tora splutters something [“it’s not for lack of _trying_ , you know!”], and Kuroo takes that opportunity to grab his bags and guide Kenma to the door. 

They’re halfway to the train station before Kenma says, “Are you gonna go see her?”

Kuroo sighs. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to?”

“I really do,” Kuroo rubs at his face with one hand. “But Kyoto is a long way away, and I don’t think I could do it alone.…”

“I’d go with you.”

Kuroo looks down at him. 

“Only if you wanted me to,” The tips of his ears are flushing pink. Kuroo looks down at him like he’s grown a second head, and Kenma’s eyes narrow a bit. “What?”

“You hate train rides” Kuroo says slowly. “And meeting new people. And going to new places. And pretty much everything that trip would entail.”

Kenma shrugs. “I’ll get over it,” They walk a few more meters before he adds: “And it’s not so bad when you’re there.”

Kuroo stops in place. Kenma doesn’t notice at first, and he’s a couple steps away before he looks over his shoulder. 

“Kuro?”

“You’d really do that?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Kenma has that little furrow between his eyebrows that he gets when he’s vaguely irritated about something, and Kuroo, still in a stupor of sorts, fixates on it. “Contrary to what you might think, I do enjoy spending time with you.”

Fuck him running. 

“Are you sure? Like, one hundred percent sure?”

“Yes, Kuro.”

“Oh my god.” Before he’s conscious of it, he sweeps Kenma up in a hug and spins him around. “Oh my god. Thank you thank you thank you _thank_ –“

Kenma frees an arm and swats at his shoulder. “You’re crushing me.”

“– _you_ , you’re the _best_ –“

“Kur _oo,_ ” Kenma only drags out the last syllable in Kuroo’s name when he’s annoyed. Kuroo sets him down. He looks up at Kuroo, lips pulled into something resembling a pout. Kuroo’s throat starts to close up. 

“Seriously. Thank you,” he manages. He thinks he might be crying a little, but Kenma doesn’t comment on it. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

“I think I might have an idea,” Kenma reaches up and swipes the pad of his thumb across Kuroo’s cheek. Ah. He is crying. “And thank me by hurrying up because it’s _cold_ out here.”

Kuroo feels a bit like his face is on fire [especially where Kenma wiped the tear away] but he doesn’t object. 

Kenma presses into his side again, for warmth, and Kuroo stares up at the night sky, blinking back the dampness in his eyes. 

**~~~**

Kenma’s dad, to no one’s surprise, replies to Kenma’s “hey can I go with Kuro to Kyoto to find his mom” with a “sure, I’ll pay for tickets.” Kuroo tries to reason with him—bullet train tickets are expensive, and Kuroo knows that money can get tight for them—but Kozume-san shuts him down. 

“Let me give back,” he insists. Kuroo’s not really sure what this means until later, when he and Kenma are doing homework in Kenma’s room, splayed out on his bed amidst a sea of books and paper. 

“He still feels bad about being distant.”

Kuroo looks up from his notes. “Hm?”

“My dad,” Kenma flips a page in his textbook. “You and your mom were more of a family to me than he or my mom could be, for a while. He feels indebted to you.”

“Oh.” It makes sense. Kenma’s parents had been distant when they were younger, due to work and some reasons Kenma hadn’t ever told him. Kuroo and his mother had been a second family, Kuroo and Kenma spending days straight bouncing back and forth between their two houses, Kuroo’s mother providing supervision, food, and assistance when needed. When she left, it gutted both of them, but Kenma moved on quickly. Kuroo can see why now, looking back—he never had the luxury of being able to hold on to something. Kuroo had just gotten clingier, latching onto Kenma with no intent to let go. He thinks briefly of university and feels a lump in his throat, clears it. “How do you know?”

“Just a guess,” Kenma shrugs. “That’s his personality.”

“He doesn’t owe anything,” Kuroo says. “I like spending time with you.”

Kenma looks up at him this time. “Why?” His voice is quiet, balanced on a knife’s edge between two emotions Kuroo hasn’t identified yet.

He blinks, slightly baffled. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I’m not very interesting.”

“What? That’s bullshit,” Kuroo closes his textbook, rests both elbows on the cover and props his chin in his hands. “You’re _very_ interesting.”

“I sit around and play games or sleep whenever we’re not playing volleyball.”

“And I enjoy watching you!”

“You enjoy watching me sleep,” Kenma deadpans.

Kuroo flushes crimson.

“Wait, I didn’t mean to—not like that–“ Truth is, Kuroo _does_ like watching Kenma sleep, because he looks so comfortable and at peace it makes Kuroo’s heart melt. But he’ll never admit to it, given Kenma would either give him hell about it or never fall asleep in Kuroo’s presence again.

Kenma’s smirking, just a little. Kuroo gets the feeling he’s being teased. He tries to come up with a retort, but he’s drawing an increasingly long blank the longer Kenma’s gold eyes stay fixed on him. 

“I win,” Kenma breaks eye contact, but his smirk gets wider.

“Win what?” 

“I shut you up.”

“You did not,” Kuroo shoves at his shoulder. Kenma grumbles as he gets pushed onto his side, hair falling over his face. “I’m still talking, aren’t I?”

Kenma sighs. “Unfortunately.” He tries to blow his hair out of the way, but it falls right back in his eyes. “Ugh.”

“You could, you know, use your hand.” 

“Don’t wanna move,” Kenma’s eyes slide shut. “Too much work.”

“Someone’s more tired than usual,” Kuroo reaches out and tucks the strands behind Kenma’s ear. 

And then he just....keeps his hand there. 

Logically, he knows he’s gotten bigger than Kenma; he’s been taller than him since middle school, he’s had twenty kilos and centimeters on him for a while now. But he’s struck very suddenly by how _small_ Kenma looks under his palm. He fits there perfectly; Kuroo’s hand covers one entire side of his face like it was made to be there. His face is soft despite his lack of a dedicated skincare routine. Kenma’s lips part a bit; he sighs through his nose and Kuroo watches his body relax more. He strokes gently over Kenma’s cheekbone with his thumb, and Kenma makes a noise not unlike a purr. Something squirms in his chest, something big and uncomfortable and impossible to ignore, and Kuroo freezes when he figures out what it is.

Shit. He might be in love.

Kuroo jerks back. How long had he stayed like that? Did Kenma think it was weird? That was _definitely_ not a platonic move; he’s never seen the girls at school caress each other’s faces, and there is’t really a non-romantic explanation for what he did. He’s really glad Kenma’s eyes were closed, Kuroo’s fairly certain how he felt was all over his face. _Fuck. Shit. Fuck fuck fuck._ He has to go. He has to go figure out what the fuck just happened somewhere else, where Kenma isn’t in his line of sight. He might cry. There’s a lot going on in his chest right now and he doesn’t know how to process any of it.

Kenma’s eyes open slowly; he lifts his head a bit when he sees Kuroo gathering up all his stuff.

“Where are you going?”

“I didn’t realize how late it was,” Kuroo dumps his books and pens and papers into his bag haphazardly. “I should go.”

“It’s only eight,” Kenma sits up fully. “Isn’t your curfew at–“

Kuroo feels bad about cutting off his best friend— _friend_ , he convinces himself, because that is the easiest for his weak heart to handle right now— but he says, “‘Night, Kenma,” and bolts.

~

He’s losing his mind.

He knows he likes guys, has known this for a while, had gone through a semi-similar crisis that one time he’d kissed Yaku during a rather eventful game of truth or dare when they were first years. He’d come out to Kenma in tears even though he was fifteen goddamn years old and too old to cry, terrified his best friend would think he was weird and not want to hang out anymore, but all Kenma said was, “Okay, wanna talk about it?” [He had, ended up with his head in Kenma’s lap as he talked and talked and _talked_ about everything that had been simmering under his skin for far too long, and Kenma listened, playing that idle cat game on his phone, resting his hands on the side of Kuroo’s head.] [Really, that should’ve been a sign.] Hell, he’d _only_ dated guys before:Yaku in first year after the Truth or Dare incident [poor Kai had to deal with both of them pining, gushing, and crying over the other within the space of a few days], and that weird thing with Daishou Suguru in second year [they’re both still bitter about it]. This isn’t a sexuality panic. No, this is him getting hit full-force in the face with feelings he didn’t even know he had and finding out that:

  1. they’re for his best friend, and
  2. they’re _strong._



So strong, in fact, that as soon as he figures this out, the little things Kenma does start to give Kuroo mini-heart attacks:the concentrated expression he has when he gets fired up about a game on the subway, how he wiggles his toes when he’s thinking hard about a strategy, the way he ducks his head to hide his face when Kuroo points both of these things out, how he gets caught up in the “am not/are too” squabbles Kuroo pushes at every opportunity. Kuroo’s noticed his tics and habits for years, but he finds himself noticing and feeling warm about it and then _WHAM!_ he gets hit in the chest with the fact that it’s a thing he loves about Kenma, and there are countless things he loves about Kenma, and he _might be in love with Kenma._

So he acknowledges he’s hit rock bottom and goes to Bokuto for advice.

**brokuto**

>hey

>i’m. having a crisis.

>are u ok????

>did smthn happn w ur dad????

>no no nothing like that

>it’s kenma

>did u guyz fight?

>no

>well, not really

>“not really”???

>idk how to describe it

>actually i do

>but ig i dont want to admit it

>did u finally catch feelings lol

>maybe

>WAIT REALLY???!!!

>DUDE

>SAY SIKE RN

>DONT TELL ME UR J NOW FIGURIN THIS OUT

>KUROO

>UVE BEEN PINING 4 HM 4 YEARS

>tHATS THE THING

>i didn’t?? know??

>still dont actually

>kuroo omg

>cant believe u just now realized u liked cute mr. pudding head

>also yes u absolutely like him

>u make LITERAL HEART EYES AT HIM

>keiji says now ur finally self aware

>akaashi knows??

>ur that obvious kuroo

>also hes hella observant so

>do you think KENMA knows????

>ooh good q

>from experience i can tell u that the ppl on both sides of pining are often oblivious

>so he may not

>now you know how i felt with you and akaashi

>painful

>”or he might know but be in denial because he has negative self esteem”

> -keiji

>o wait does keiji know something i dont

>brb

Kuroo groans and glares down at the screen, then tosses his phone aside and buries his face in his pillows.

His phone chimes a few minutes later. He picks it up, rolls over and holds it above his face.

**brokuto**

>KUROOOOO IM BACK DID YOU MISS ME

>no

>hate u too <3

>neways

>u r an idiot

>pot calling the kettle black are we

>SHUT UP

>AT LEAST I CONFESSED

>I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING TO CONFESS

>UR IN DENIAL

>NO I’M NOT

>U LIKE HIM

>U MAKE FKIN HEART EYES AT HIM

>kuroo. have i ever led u astray.

>several times yes

>ok tru

>BUT TRUST ME ON THIS

>you said that last time

>what last time???

>daishou

>ok FUCK daishou

>we learned from that

>do u really think kenmas like daishou?

>is that what ur worried about?

>of course not

>but i have no clue how he feels about any of this

>and he’s not good with emotions and i don’t want to freak him out

>i dont want to make things weird

>esp. since he’s going w me to kyoto soon

>wait huh

>oh yeah i forgot to tell you

>i found where mom lives

>OH!!!!

>that’s a good thign??

>yeah, it’s good

>i’m gonna go up and find her

>which could also go horribly wrong

>but kenma’s going so it’ll be ok

>which is why i can’t say anything yet

>i don’t want him to bail

>keiji says ur in denial bc ur afraid of his reaction

>so ur distancing urself from any possibility where u might tell him

>listen.

>kuroo

>u will not be able to handle urself

>if ur struggling now, ull be hopeless by the time u go on the trip

>no i won’t

>ur going to be ALONE WITH HIM

>R U STAYING IN A HOTEL? BC U’LL BE ALONE WITH HIM THERE

>i bet u’ll spill before u get to kyoto

>oo keiji’s taking me up on this bet

>he bets 5thousand yen it’ll be after u get there but before u get back

>I SHOULD GET TSUKKI INVOLVED

>I KNOW IM RIGHT I COULD MAKE BANK

>NO

>PLEASE DO NOT

>BYE KUROO

>BOKUTO PLEASE

>jk, i won’t spill ur love life secrets to ur kouhai

>BUT U SHOULD TELL HIMMMMMMMM

>FOLLOW UR HEART KUROO

>NO

>FUCK U

>gross

>o right thats kenmas job

>I HATE YOU

>LUV U 2

>FUCK OFF

**~~~**

He thinks the conversation with Bokuto might’ve made things worse.

So. He likes Kenma. Might be in love with him. Can’t stop watching him. And Kenma will be going with him to Kyoto, staying in a hotel, finding his _mom_ with him after five years, and Kuroo _is not_ going to do anything that might reveal how he feels.

He might explode.

They haven’t talked about the night Kuroo bolted yet, but there’s been tension ever since. And space. Normally, after school, he’d be right next to Kenma, or Kenma would be in his lap, and Kuroo would be acting as a human weighted blanket and letting Kenma finally relax from the day. But he hasn’t been able to bring himself to get close enough to touch, like at all. Hell, when Kenma almost ran into a light pole this morning, Kuroo grabbed the strap of his bag instead of his arm like normal. He’s afraid if they get any closer in proximity, he might do something incredibly stupid like confess or kiss him or cry. Kenma watches him when he thinks Kuroo won’t notice [Kenma doesn’t know that Kuroo’s just as attuned to Kenma’s eyes as Kenma is to everyone else’s]. Kuroo doesn’t know if he’s worried or confused. The normal perceptiveness he has towards whatever Kenma is feeling is gone; it’s like there’s a sudden wall between them, and he hates it.

He finds himself getting tension headaches, sleeping at odd hours, feeling a tightness in his chest when he dwells on it too long. He starts missing Kenma’s sets—he’s been hitting them for years, and Kenma’s good at adjusting to him, but now there’s a disconnect between them, and Kuroo ends up swiping through air. 

He gets asked why he’s so distracted and blames it on stress, on lack of sleep, on club stuff, but no one is convinced when Lev asks him during morning practise “What’s got you so distracted, Kuroo-san?” and Kuroo replies absently, “Volleyball?”

Everyone goes quiet. He hears the dull _thunk_ of a ball hitting something, looks over to see Kenma’s fumbled a toss to Inuoka where they’re practicing an attack a little ways away. Inuoka rubs the top of his head; Kenma’s eyes bore into him, and that furrow from before is back. Kuroo can’t tell if he’s more irritated that he hasn’t figured this out yet, or just worried. 

“Are you having a stroke?” Yaku asks, not unkindly. 

“I, uh,” Kuroo takes a step back. “Need some air. I’ll be back in five.” 

He changes his shoes and walks out with as much dignity as he can muster, grabbing his water bottle from the bleachers on the way. 

The air is surprisingly cool for September, and he almost wishes he’d grabbed a jacket as he starts up a brisk jog. He hadn’t gone on his morning run earlier, hadn’t had time to clear his head from everything his subconscious had been shuffling through. [It’s not _all_ Kenma-related; the rest is normal background stress—school, the team, figuring out what to do about his mom, dodging his father in the house…..It’s a lot. Adding the sudden revelation that he might be in love with his best friend just makes everything worse]. It had been a hard habit to start, especially since it involved getting up while it was still dark out, but it’s so ingrained in his routine now that going without it throws him off. 

Two laps around campus and a definitely more than five minutes later, he feels a little clearer, lighter, but when he jumps back into receive drills, he doesn’t make a single one. 

“Kuroo!”

Coach Nekomata waves him over to the bench. 

“Ooooo–“ Lev starts. Yaku stomps on his foot to shut him up. Kuroo walks over, an apology already halfway out of his mouth. 

“Sit,” Nekomata cuts him off. 

Kuroo sits. Nekomata nods to the court, leans back in his chair, indicating for Kuroo to watch. Kuroo does, tries not to fidget, tries not to let his eyes stray too much to Kenma, figures out quickly that not doing both of those things at the same time is a tall order. So Nekomata startles him when he says, “You’re distracted.”

It’s not accusatory, just like he’s stating a fact, but Kuroo still feels something in his chest tighten. He looks down at his shoes. “I’m sorry–“

“You don’t need to apologize,” Nekomata waves a hand. “You must have a lot on your mind, for it to be distracting you from this. Take your time. Let yourself work it out. You do nothing by rushing or refusing to face it.”

Kuroo swallows a sudden lump in his throat. He nods.

“is there anything I need to know about?” Nekomata glances over in his direction. “Everything alright at home?”

Nekomata knows about the situation with his parents, for several reasons, none of which Kuroo wants to dwell on right now. “Yes sir.” The words are bitter on his tongue. 

Surprisingly, Nekomata doesn’t press, just looks back to Coach Naoi’s drills. Kuroo fidgets, and watches Kenma. 

**~~~**

After practice, Kuroo’s so out of it that he changes and leaves, instead of talking to the team or waiting for Kenma like he usually does. He doesn’t realize this until halfway through his first class, when he’s doodling a grumpy-looking kitten on the corner of his paper. He frowns, erases it, and tries to focus again. 

At lunch, when he pokes his head into Kenma’s classroom to apologize for being distant, he finds that the place where his friend usually sits is empty. No books, no half-eaten bento, nothing. He even walks over to Kenma’s desk to be sure he’s not just imagining things. A couple of the second years send strange looks his way. Rude. It’s not like he’s an unfamiliar face around here—he comes to bother Kenma every day if they’re not sitting outside to eat. 

“Kenma went home early,” Tora says, appearing at his left side. Kuroo jumps. “He had a fit or somethin’ in class.”

“A fit?”

“A panic attack,” Fukunaga corrects, suddenly on his other side. Kuroo jumps again. 

“You two are really quiet when you want to be,” he mutters. “When was this?”

“About an hour or two ago,” Tora leans on Kenma’s desk.

“Is he okay?"

Fukunaga shrugs. 

“He was askin’ for you,” Tora adds. “When we took him to the nurse, he kept sayin’ that nickname he calls you and he wouldn’t answer any of her questions until his dad got there. I was gonna go find you but she wouldn’t let me interrupt your class.”

“You could’ve texted me,” Kuroo fights to keep his voice at a normal tone. He takes his phone out of his pocket, sees all the unread text messages from Tora and Fukunaga both just as the former says, “We tried that. You were in class.”

“Shit,” He finds Kenma’s contact in his phone, calls him. The phone rings, rings, rings, and then goes to voicemail. He tries again. Nothing. 

“You should put that away before the teacher comes back,” Tora warns. Kuroo glances over his shoulder, texts Kenma a quick _u ok???_ , and slips his phone back into his pocket. 

For all his previous Kenma-watching, he’s failed in looking out for him this time. Stupid feelings and stupid invisible wall between them. Kuroo closes his eyes and rubs at his temples.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Tora nudges his shoulder. “This is Kenma we’re talking about. No one knows what goes on in his head.”

“ _I’m_ supposed to,” Kuroo protests, opening his eyes. 

Tora and Fukunaga share a glance. Kuroo mutters something about needing to go back to class and leaves the room. 

**~~~**

The next morning, Kenma isn’t the one to answer the door when Kuroo knocks. 

Kenma’s dad lets him in. Kozume-san’s on his way out. Kuroo can tell from the pitch of his shoulders that Kozume-san is relieved to see him; he tells Kuroo “Kenma’s in his room, I think he’d like to see you,” and then he’s gone. Kuroo slides off his shoes and goes to look for his friend.

Kenma’s door is open, and he’s curled up with his comforter pulled up over his ears. Kuroo can only see the top of his head and his eyes, fixed on the floor somewhere behind Kuroo. 

“Hey.”

He leans on the doorway, one thumb hooked in the strap of his schoolbag. 

Kenma doesn’t reply, doesn’t make any movement or sound to show he’s heard. It’s probably one of _those_ days, so Kuroo sets his bag down by the door and walks in slowly. He sits down on the floor by the head of Kenma’s bed, pulls out his phone to text Yaku.

**mr. demon senpai**

>won’t be at practice today, start without me

>i stg kuroo next time you skip we’re demoting you

>wait 

>did you really have a stroke???

>are you okay????

>yaku, for the last time, i am FINE. 

>it’s one of /those/ days

>ohhh gotcha

>tell kenma the team says hi 

> and that lev misses him

>d((Wv0))

>what the fuck

>it’s my hair!! 

>you, sir, are a fucking dork 

>((W_¬))

>go bother kenma, i don’t have time for your bullshit

He sets his phone aside, closes his eyes and waits.

He should’ve expected this, after this past week. They’re not used to being out of sync, and if it’s been weighing this heavy on Kuroo, he can’t imagine how Kenma feels. He’d texted Kenma to check on him right after the other second years mentioned what happened, then again after practice was over, but Kenma never replied. He was probably trying to put himself back together after an attack. Kuroo mentally kicks himself for not trying to see him in person, for not texting him more to make sure he was okay. He takes a deep breath, envisions balling up all the feelings he has for Kenma and rolls them away.

This isn’t about him. He needs to be here for Kenma, in whatever way Kenma wants him to be.

He jolts at the touch on the top of his head, then bites his lip against a grin and leans his head back. Kenma’s hand cards through his hair, his stubby nails kneading at Kuroo’s scalp as he twists his fingers in it. Kuroo nearly purrs. This feels normal, familiar. His heart’s only trying to break free from his ribs a little bit. Maybe he was overreacting before.

“You should go to school,” Kenma’s voice is barely audible past the whirr of the heater and the sweater sleeve he has pressed over half his face. His other hand pulls away. Kuroo shuffles around to look at him. His eyes are bloodshot and smudged with purple, like he hasn’t slept well in days. Kuroo hasn’t stayed over since the night he’d started thinking about his mom again, so he hasn’t been around to make sure Kenma sleeps instead of gaming all night. Though, his PSP is plugged in and the light is green, so maybe he’s just been laying here. 

“Why?”

“You’ll be late. To practice.”

“Not much point in going without my setter, huh?” He winks at Kenma, who just rolls his eyes. “Team says hi, by the way, and Lev–“

“Misses me?”

“Indeed he does.” Kuroo props his arms on the edge of the bed and rests his head on them. They’ve done this particular exchange before, enough that it feels like muscle memory when Kenma reaches out with one hand and Kuroo takes it, rubs circles into his palm with both thumbs. Kenma sighs at the contact.

“You been taking your meds?” Kuroo asks.

“Sometimes,” Kenma looks away. “They make me feel sick.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Kuroo brushes Kenma’s hair away from his forehead. Kenma sniffs. “Hey, you okay?”

“I feel shitty,” Kenma squeezes his eyes shut. “Too much…..too much.”

They sit in silence for a while, both staring at their intertwined hands. Kenma’s nails are bitten to the quick, cuticles chewed and torn raw. This is abnormal; he hasn’t chewed on his nails since elementary school. He’d stopped because after he did, it hurt his fingers too much to push the buttons on his game controllers, or to play volleyball. Kuroo knows they’re sore now, if the inflamed skin and dried blood crusted in some spots is any indication. Yesterday must’ve been really bad. 

“I know you’ve been around,” Kenma says. “But I’ve missed you.”

“I’m sorry,” Kuroo murmurs. “I should’ve been there yesterday. I shouldn’t have stayed so distant.”

“It’s okay,” Kenma grips his hand. “You’re here now.” 

Kuroo tries to ignore the way his heart writhes a bit in his chest at that. 

“Have you eaten this morning?” He asks. Kenma shakes his head. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure? Not even an egg and rice or anything?”

Kenma hesitates, and Kuroo knows then he’s won. 

**~~~**

“It took you a week to find out she worked at a bookstore?”

“Hey, I’m not very tech savvy,” Kuroo pouts. 

“Says the planned computer engineering major,” Kenma mutters into his cup of tea. Kuroo pouts more.

He’d been planning to bring Kenma breakfast in bed, but Kenma hadn’t wanted to be alone, so Kuroo carried him to the kitchen and set him on the counter by the stove, close enough for Kenma to lean into his shoulder as he cooked. Kenma finished the egg Kuroo made in two minutes flat before admitting this was the first time he’d eaten anything since dinner two nights ago. Kuroo gave him a _Look_ , the one he saves only for the occasions where Kenma doesn’t take care of himself, and then made him more food. Now, they’ve moved to the kotatsu, both eggs are gone, and Kuroo’s sitting across from him, chin propped in his hands, poking Kenma’s knees under the table with his toes. He’d mentioned his mom offhand, and Kenma perked up just a little bit.

But this isn’t about her, or about Kuroo. Right now, Kenma’s his number one priority.

“Feeling any better?”

“Little bit,” Kenma replies. 

“There’s time to make it to school if–“

“I don’t think I can handle a school day right now,” Kenma’s hands shake as he puts down his mug. He folds them in his lap and looks down. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Kuroo says quickly. “That’s fine. I was just offering–“

“You should go, though,” Kenma looks up. “You have exams coming up.”

“Yeah, in like six months. I’ve been studying on my own for a while already,” Kuroo says. “I’d be bored in class anyways.” 

“Still,” Kenma mumbles. 

Kuroo wants to reassure him, wants to say, _Spending the day with you is the only thing I want to do_ , or _I could live an entire lifetime with you_. But it’s too early for cheese [or…whatever that is, he’s not sure if it’s cheesy or something else], and Kenma would probably just roll his eyes. 

So, instead, he says, “Make it up to me by taking your meds, huh?”

Kenma’s face pinches, but he nods and gets up, grabbing Kuroo’s glass of water as he heads to the counter. 

“Since Lev’s not around to say it,” Kuroo calls after him. “Indirect kiss!” 

Kenma dumps the remainder of the water over his head when he comes back. 

**~~~**

Later that day, sitting in Kuroo’s lap with a game controller, Kenma says, “Thank you for staying.” 

It’s the first thing he’s said outside of hummed _yes’s_ and _no’s_ to Kuroo’s occasional questions since breakfast. Kenma clears his throat and continues. “It’s selfish, but I don’t think I would’ve made it through today if you weren’t here.” 

“It’s not selfish,” Kuroo replies. He’s half-asleep, propped up against Kenma’s mountain of pillows, arms loose around Kenma’s stomach. He opens one eye. “I’m here for you whenever you need. And this beats sitting through a lecture any day.”

“You’ve just been sleeping.”

“Exactly,” Kuroo grins. He can’t see, but he’s guessing that Kenma rolls his eyes when he huffs a sigh. “Besides, watching you figure these puzzles out is entertaining.”

This time Kenma snorts. “They’re not puzzles, they’re tests.”

“That’s what the evil robot lady keeps telling you. She also keeps telling you that you suck at everything, which, obviously, you don’t.”

“Only because I’ve played this like, four times.”

“Yeah, and I’ve watched you play it at least two of those four times, and I don’t remember the solutions.”

“Probably because you sleep through half of them.”

“Touché,” Kuroo closes his eyes again. Kenma tucks his head under Kuroo’s chin, and Kuroo finds he doesn’t want to move again ever for the rest of his life. He’d been so focused on avoiding contact that all this is almost overwhelming. Kenma’s hair sticks to his skin, still damp from a shower, but he smells like lemon and vanilla soap, and the lavender fabric softener he’s been using since they were kids. It’s heavenly. Kuroo wonders if he could get away with actually cuddling him, nuzzling his nose into the crook of his shoulder, kissing all over his face, his neck, the top of his head. God, he _wants_ that, so much he feels a little dizzy with it. He really can’t decide what’s worse, longing from close proximity, or from far away.

He notices too late his breathing’s more than a little uneven and Kenma’s looking at him again.

“You okay?”

“Leg’s cramping up a bit,” he lies [well, not completely, his hip flexor’s starting to tense up from how Kenma’s sitting], and immediately regrets it when Kenma rolls off his lap and lies next to him instead. 

“Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” He stretches the offending leg, then settles back down into the pillows. Kenma doesn’t move back, eyes narrowed at the screen, tongue poking out slightly as he works through a timed portion of the game. Kuroo closes his eyes and mourns the loss.

**~~~**

The next day, Kenma calls him at lunchtime. 

“So, next weekend, we don’t have practice,” His voice is blissfully quiet over the phone. “Coach told us this morning.”

Kuroo’s taking another sick day due to an impromptu migraine, either from stress or eyestrain, he’s not sure. He hadn’t wanted to stay home, but when Kenma came by earlier that morning to find out why Kuroo hadn’t shown up to walk with him to school, he convinced Kuroo to take the day off. He’d offered to stay as well, but Kuroo refused, saying he needed someone he trusted to keep an eye on the team. 

He presses his arm further over his eyes against the afternoon sun. His window doesn’t have blinds, and the light’s making his headache worse. 

“Getting a break? That’s new.”

“I was thinking, if you’re ready, we could go to Kyoto then.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Kuroo rolls onto his side, groaning. “Guessing that weekend works for you too?”

“Yeah. I’ll let my dad know,” Kenma pauses for a moment, then asks, “How are you feeling?”

Kuroo makes a face, even though Kenma can’t see it. “Not great, but better than this morning. Thanks for forcing me to take medicine. Speaking of, you take yours?”

Kenma hums an affirmative, then says. “I’m skipping afternoon practice.”

“Kenma–“

“You don’t need to be alone when you’re not feeling well,” Kenma insists. 

“Yeah, and I also don’t need the team unsupervised. You’re my second pair of eyes, Kenma.”

“Kai’s your second pair of eyes.”

“Yeah, and he’s too nice to the first years. Actually, he’s too nice to everyone. I need someone who’s slightly less nice.”

“Yaku.”

“Too mean.”

“It feels like you’re making excuses.”

Kuroo frowns. “I’m not.” He is. He’s too achy to analyze all the reasons why.

Kenma’s silent for a moment, then he says, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Kuroo replies. 

They talk until the lunch period is over, and then Kuroo dozes for a while. When he wakes up, the room is darker, he can hear the television from the living room, and there’s something warm and soft next to him. 

“Kenma?”

The setter looks up from his game. He’s still in his practice clothes. Despite the fact he smells like sweat, Kuroo finds himself wanting to press his nose into the soft skin of Kenma’s shoulder, peeking from under the neckline of his shirt. He doesn’t, though, instead just asks, “How long have you been here?”

“Ten minutes or so,” Kenma replies. “You sleep like a rock.”

“My dad’s home.”

“I know, I came in the front door,” Kenma nods to the general direction of the door. “I told him I brought you your schoolwork you missed.”

“And?”

“He just looked at me and then back at the TV.”

Kuroo knows he’ll be hearing about it later, but he’s glad for the brief respite. He sighs and looks up at the ceiling. 

“Just….keep your voice down, okay?”

“When am I ever loud, Kuroo.”

“Hm, fair.”

Kenma pauses his game. “How’s your head?”

“Better,” Kuroo squints at the wall. “Still hurts, but not as bad.” 

“You should eat something.”

“Yeah, but that requires leaving this room, which I do not want to do right now.” 

“Not necessarily,” Kenma sits up and crawls over him to pick something up off the floor. Kuroo _is not_ looking at how his shirt rides up and shows the slope of his lower back. He’s so small, Kuroo’s entire hand could cover the space. _Fuck_ , this train of thought is dangerous, especially with Kenma right here next to him. He hears the rustle of a convenience store bag, and then Kenma hands him two salmon onigiri. They’re still warm. 

His stomach rumbles, and he sits up. “Thank you….how much do I owe–“

“None,” Kenma interrupts, leaning into his side and picking up his game again. 

“But–“

“Just eat, Kuroo, please.” There’s an edge to Kenma’s voice, so Kuroo doesn’t protest again. He watches Kenma play, and the room is quiet except for the little sound effects and faint music, barely loud enough to hear. 

He’s halfway through the second onigiri when he finally asks, “Did I trigger your episode yesterday?”

He’s been thinking about it since it happened. He knows anxiety is contagious, and that Kenma’s very sensitive to it. That’s one of the reasons he tries to keep the atmosphere calm during games. _Keep the oxygen flowing so the brain can work_. Putting a stop in the system can push Kenma over the edge so quickly that not even Kuroo can bring him back. 

Kenma shrugs. “Not completely. There were other things. I had a rough week.”

“But it was partially me.”

“Yeah.”

“Shit, Kenma, I’m so–“

“It’s mostly because I don’t take my meds on time,” Kenma cuts him off. He’s hit a save point, so his handheld goes back to his lap. “It’s not your fault.”

“Still....”

“I just wish you’d tell me what’s up when it’s bothering you,” Kenma murmurs. “I know I’m not the most talkative, or the best with advice, but–“ He looks up at Kuroo. “You know you can come to me, right? With anything. And I’ll listen.”

“I know.” Kuroo sighs. “There’s just a lot going on right now, and I haven’t been sleeping well. You know when all your anxiety tries to mob you as you go to sleep?” Kenma nods. “That’s all it is.”

“Is it–“ Kenma’s eyes cut to the direction the sound of the TV is filtering from. 

“It’s always, a bit,” Kuroo replies. He tosses the last bit of onigiri in his mouth, effectively ending the conversation for the time being. Kenma doesn’t try to pick it back up. He also doesn’t pick his game back up, instead shifting slightly so he’s behind Kuroo. He nearly chokes when Kenma’s thumbs press into the back of his neck.

“Your migraine is probably a tension headache,” Kenma says, before he can ask what’s going on. “This’ll help, maybe,” His hands pull away. “Is this okay? I should’ve asked–“

“It’s fine, it’s fine, thank you,” Kuroo manages. Kenma’s fingers return, knead at the tight spots in his neck. It hurts, but it is releasing some of the tension there. He can feel Kenma’s breath warm on the back of his neck, whispering against the skin, even more so when he tugs down the neck of Kuroo’s shirt to reach past the nape of his neck. And _fuck_ , it feels good, partially because it really is helping his headache, but because it’s _Kenma._ These are Kenma’s hands, flexible and limber, familiar and foreign. If he can get through this without popping a boner, Kuroo’s giving himself a medal. 

Kenma, however, continues to complicate things. 

It’s bad enough his hands are warm and they’re all over Kuroo’s back, leaving a tingling feeling wherever they touch, that Kuroo has wondered about this type of scenario in another context that he’s embarrassed to even acknowledge exists. But then Kenma says, “You know, this would be easier if you took your shirt off.” and Kuroo loses his entire fucking mind. 

_Where am I, a bad porn movie_? Kuroo thinks weakly. He grits out an _okay_ and pulls his shirt over his head. If he can handle Kenma being in his lap [a much more frequent occurrence], he can handle this. This is not difficult.

Kenma’s hands are chilly, but they warm quickly against Kuroo’s skin [he feels like he’s putting off waves of heat, and Kenma’s quiet “you’re always a furnace” confirms that he is.] When Kenma manages to loosen an exceptionally tight spot, Kuroo has to bite his tongue against a groan at the relief. 

He will not be getting that medal. 

“So, continuing from yesterday,” Kenma says quickly. He sounds slightly out of breath. Kuroo latches onto his voice, desperate for a distraction. “About your mom. She works in a bookstore, in Kyoto,” He presses his hands into a knot. “What else?” 

“That’s– _ah_ –that’s it,” Kuroo jolts as Kenma’s knuckles roll over a sore spot. Kenma jumps too. “That’s all I know, other than the name of the bookshop. She doesn’t post much. Honestly, I’m surprised she even has her location. Guess she’s not too worried about people finding where she is.”

“Could you call the shop?” Kenma asks. “Ask to talk to her?”

“I’d rather just go up there,” Kuroo admits. “See her in person. That feels more…meaningful, I guess.”

“Makes sense.” 

“Also I’d rather her blow me off in person,” Kuroo mumbles. “That way I’d at least get to see her.”

“She’s not going to blow you off,” Kenma leans over his shoulder and gives him a look. Their faces are _far_ too close; Kuroo can see the individual striations in his eyes. He holds his breath. “Kuro. She’s your _mom_.”

“Yeah, and my dad is my _dad_.”

Kenma’s glare falters. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

Kuroo looks away. Partially because the eye contact is _insane_ , but also because Kenma’s right. 

Kenma has not been privy to much of what goes on between Kuroo and his father. Kuroo makes sure of that. Kenma hadn’t known the full extent of it when they were younger, not until shared locker rooms revealed that Kuroo had a bad habit of ‘getting in the way,’ not until Kenma found Kuroo coughing up clots of blood in the bathroom one day after excusing himself from practice, not until he’d treated some of Kuroo’s wounds himself, pressing gauze to gashes from too-sharp rings and ice to swollen ribs and arms, letting the older boy shake and sob in his arms, confused and aching and terrified. While it’s gotten better than it was before and right after his mom left, they still have pretty violent disagreements, ones he refuses to let Kenma get caught up in. Hence the fact that they haven’t spent an extended amount of time together at Kuroo’s house for several years. He can’t relax here, can’t let his guard down, because every time he has in the past, it’s come back to bite him. The fact that Kenma’s here in Kuroo’s room at night with the door closed is something that will come up later, and Kuroo’s already bracing for impact.

[He feels like a coward, but he can’t stop himself.]

“Kuro,” Kenma drapes himself over Kuroo’s back, hooks his chin over Kuroo’s shoulder. He’s _so_ warm, there is _so_ much skin touching, Kuroo’s fairly certain he’s sweating bullets at this point. “Your mom is not your dad.”

“Wow, thanks for the heads up.”

Kenma knees him lightly. “I’m not done. Your mom isn’t _like_ your dad.”

“It’s been five years.”

“She left to get away from your dad, there is no way she’s going to act like him.”

“You don’t _know_ that.”

Kenma knees him again. “ _You_ don’t know that she _won’t_.”

“Yeah, but do I want to take that risk?”

“So you’re saying you don’t want to go to Kyoto?” 

“No,” Kuroo says miserably. “I don’t _know_ what I want anymore.”

Kenma lets go of him. He hastily tugs his shirt back on, falls facedown onto his pillow, which is cool against his face. God. He is both grateful to no longer be touching and aching for Kenma’s hands on him again. 

“When I knew your mom….” Kenma says. Kuroo feels the mattress shift as Kenma lies down too, his back to Kuroo. “When I knew your mom, I was jealous.”

“You were jealous?”

“Yeah. Because she really cared about you, you know? Not that my mom didn’t, but she was always distant. And my dad was always working, so I didn’t have anyone around, really. But then your mom….she so obviously cared about you, like you were her _sun_ , and she was always around if you needed her for something. Like when you broke your arm when you fell out of that tree–“ Kuroo huffs a laugh. “–she comforted you and took you to the doctor and was just so….loving, I guess. She took care of you.”

“Yeah, but, I broke my arm. That’s a pretty big deal.”

“Yeah, and I got double pneumonia while my dad was on a business trip and my mom didn’t know how to handle it so she locked herself in her room to avoid the problem,” Kenma’s voice goes bitter. “Sorry that I have high standards for what’s considered a ‘big deal.’”

Kuroo winces. He remembers that, remembers coming over to Kenma’s house and finding him delirious and struggling to breathe, remembers calling his own mother and barely being able to get the explanation out through his tears, remembers holding Kenma upright to help him breathe, remembers his tiny best friend surrounded by scary-looking machines, stuck in bed with two tubes in his chest for a week. Kenma sighs, rolls over so he’s facing Kuroo now. Kuroo turns his head to look at him.

“Sorry,” Kenma continues. “My point is that your mother never did anything to indicate that she was like your dad, right? So why do you expect her to be like him?”

“I don’t know,” Kuroo closes his eyes. ‘It’s irrational.”

“Then acknowledge it as irrational instead of trying to make excuses for it,” Kenma pokes him. 

Kuroo shoves his face into his arm. “It’s hard.”

“I know,” Kenma’s voice softens. 

“You’ll stick with me? Even if things go badly?’

“Of course,” Kenma shifts; Kuroo feels him a hair’s breadth away, but he doesn’t get close enough to touch. “That’s what I’m here for.”

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments have a 100% chance of making my day!
> 
> come yell at me on tumblr: https://anavkour.tumblr.com/


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